Chapter 37 #2
“I was at The Malted Mule. For trivia night. On a date.” Their eyes widen, and I scramble to finish my sentence, giving in to my typical too-much-talk urge.
“With a guy that works there. But he wasn’t working that night.
We were supposed to be on our own trivia team, but the people we were meeting didn’t show up and—”
Mr. Billings swipes the screen, and everything in me sours.
Staring back at me is a photo of Ty and me in our masks at The St. Mirada Masquerade.
Neither of our faces is decipherable, but one thing is for certain—the menagerie of tattoos climbing up Ty’s forearms. Skull included and clear as day.
My fingers are wrapped around his thick bicep as he leans forward, mouth twisted in anger at the drunk guy who spilled on me.
Though his chivalry was appreciated, it didn’t come without consequences.
Holy smoking smokes. I’m cooked.
Mr. Billings’s tone is so calm it makes me uneasy. “Internet sources may not always be reliable, but with the admission of your presence at The Malted Mule—”
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have stayed, I—”
Both of them sigh as papers are pulled from Mr. HR’s bag. He shuffles them loudly as he moves on with the procedure, business as usual. Words like conflict of interest and severance barely pierce my stupor.
Mr. HR Billings snuffles. “This is not a reflection of your performance, Miss Hinkley, but simply a matter of organizational policy. As outlined in your contract.”
I black out as I sign and leave the room, only coming to as I pass our practice studio. Ignoring the typical cacophony of the girls, I weave a sad little path all the way out to my empty car.
I had the one thing I’d ever truly dreamed of, and I took it for granted. I screwed up.
Despite the many times I’ve wanted to cry today, as soon as I sit in the driver’s seat, close and lock the door, the dam breaks, and I dissolve into a puddle.
I just got fired.
I’ve left dozens of jobs, but being fired is something totally different. It’s not a choice. I was forced to abandon it, and I suppose I only have myself to blame. Telling lies and keeping secrets only brings destruction. It serves me right.
All I can think about is getting back to my place, packing up and leaving. But where would I go? I can’t bring myself to stay at the place my choreographer hooked me up with. Not tonight.
Tears pour harder as I consider my predicament.
Getting kicked off—fired—is far worse. The thing is, although it’s completely embarrassing to get kicked off the team, I’m not sure I’m crying sad tears.
There’s something cathartic about them. I feel almost…
relieved. Through blurry eyes, I shove my key into the ignition and twist, but Harriet sputters.
She won’t start. If I thought things couldn’t get worse, I was wrong.
If I could cry harder, I would. But alas, I cannot.
My phone pings and I lift it to see a text from Larissa, asking where I am.
I can’t ask her for help, and despite my longing to reach out to Ty, I can’t.
And that’s when it hits me. Is he getting the same talk today?
Is he getting kicked off? But I know the answer to that one.
Depending on the team, the ramifications for a player in this exact situation can range anywhere from a slap on the wrist to a hefty fine.
I hope they aren’t too harsh on him. We made a mistake, but I still blame myself.
I should have known better. He was just trying to be nice. That’s all it was.
Suddenly, my car is a coffin, locking me in, suffocating me.
Throwing the door open, I heave my body over the side of the driver’s seat, desperate for a breeze.
I can’t call Ty. I can’t call Larissa. If I called my Mom, she’d probably just tell me how much money Ellie owes her for losing whatever dumb bet they gambled.
I slam the door shut, sealing myself back into the prison that is Ol’ Harriet.
So I sit. And stare. And wait. For what, I’m not sure.
The parking lot lights flicker on, blotting out the lurking darkness of the evening.
A couple of gulls fight over a half-eaten pretzel four parking spaces over.
When their tiff ends, I watch aimlessly as they fly away, wishing I could do the same.
My eyes sweep across the vast lot. Cars stop and go and fuss out on the street ahead.
Jealousy streaks through me at their ability to do something.
Anything. I’m not sure how much time passes, but eventually, the numbing silence is interrupted by a knock on my window.
I jump and turn to see one of the last people I would want to see after what happened.
Larissa. Of all the days to find parking next to her, why did it have to be the day I got fired?
She doesn’t even stop at her car. Her dark brows are knitted as she beelines toward me, and I slink lower in my seat.
A mortification I’ve never experienced burns over my skin as girls from the team glance our way, stalling just long enough to catch a glimpse of my emotional circus before diving into their cars.
“Avery, what are you doing? Why weren’t you at—” Her eyes flip to horrified mode as they appraise my face through the window. “Are you okay?” She jiggles the doorhandle, but I had enough good sense to lock it. “Open the door, Avery.”
“No.”
“Please. Just… Let me in.”
My voice breaks as the words leave my mouth. “I can’t.”
“You literally can.” She taps the glass over my handle. “Just open up.”
I stare into the floorboard, a sob racking through me as I give in and throw open the door.
“Are you okay?” The panic in her tone as she reaches for me instantly makes me feel bad, but I can’t stop bawling long enough to tell her that I’m actually fine, in theory. “Please, Avery. Just tell me what happened.”
“I’m a mess,” I moan.
“You are not.”
I can’t pick my head up from between my knees. “I definitely am.”
We sit in silence for a beat too long.
“What happened? Why weren’t you at practice?” she finally asks.
I sniff, shift my weight long enough to see just how beautiful the pink in tonight’s waning sunset is. “I got fired from the team. They let me go.”
The last thing I expect from my confession is sympathy.
When Larissa wraps both arms around me, pulling me to her chest, it’s a complete shock.
If she recoiled or rushed elsewhere, I wouldn’t blame her.
Tugging me to her chest is the last thing I’d expect.
Neither of us speaks. Shame and confusion fill me, along with a whole lot of embarrassment.
“Do you need to talk about it?” she asks.
For the first time in my life, I don’t. Because I know exactly what will happen if I do.
As soon as my mouth opens, I’m going to regurgitate every tiny thing that’s been gnawing at me.
But I’ve grown so exhausted of all the secrets.
Plus, I assume the team will find out at some point soon anyway.
So, as each of the girls’ cars trickles out of the lot one by one, I talk, starting way too early in my story.
My childhood. From the ADHD diagnosis to my mother’s insistence I operate solely off of self-sabotage.
I unload everything. Every secret I kept from allowing my mom’s dreams of me dancing dictate the majority of my life to living with one of the players to developing feelings for said player.
I don’t say his name, whether it’s because I think it’ll protect him or because I’m not ready to speak it yet, I’m not sure.
When I finish, I fully expect her to recoil or ridicule me or abandon me.
It would be tempting, given how much snot is rolling down my face, but instead, I feel her smooth arm wrap around me and tug me closer.
Larissa comforting me as I bawl into my lap on a dusty curb outside the practice facility was not something I saw happening today. Or this year. Or ever.
“I’ve been wondering about all that.” She sighs.
Her words stop me in my tracks, and I sit back, wiping my face. “What?”
“Look, I’m proud of you. Like, so stupid-proud of you I can’t even put it into words. And I hope that’s okay to say because I know I haven’t known you that long, but I don’t care when I met you. You’re one of my best friends.”
“You’re one of my best friends,” I mumble back.
“And I know how hard you’ve worked to make the team, to get your plant business going. You’ve been doing a lot.” She grips my shoulders, turning me to face her. “So please don’t get mad when I say this, but—”
I wipe my nose on the back of my wrist.
“From what you’ve said—and what I’ve noticed—you seem determined to make sure that you aren’t somewhere long enough to succeed.”
“Yeah, it’s the self-sabotage,” I recite.
She rolls her eyes. “Your mom should have never said that to you. That’s not a thing.”
“It is.”
“It isn’t,” she insists. “It’s an excuse. Not a real thing, Avery. If your heart was in this, I think the outcome would be different. Frankly, I’m a little surprised Judith and Stacey didn’t notice sooner. They usually have a pretty good read on people.” She sighs. “But now, you’re free, Avery.”
I snort. “What? Being fired and being free are not the same thing.”
“Aren’t they? You’re done with dancing, Avery. You have new dreams—ones that are yours. And that’s okay. You love your plants. And the city. And maybe even a certain player…”
An incredulous laugh warbles from my lips.
Her voice softens to a whisper. “Who is it? Is it Ty?” I lift my head enough to meet her eyes, and her lips pinch back a smile. “I freaking knew it.”
“Was it that obvious?”
“I totally believe that you didn’t meet up with him at McMurphy’s on purpose, but there was just… You guys were looking at each other in a way that most people only dream of. Like in that Ada-Lane-swoony-romcom movie type of way. You know?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Well, take it from me, you did. Both of you.” She’s silent for a long moment. “I know it’s probably too soon to know, but what’s next? Aren’t you still staying at Stacey’s neighbor’s?”
I groan. “Yes. I guess I’ll—I don’t know. Accept defeat? Crawl back home so my family can throw it all back in my face. That sounds like fun. Can’t wait to be berated for screwing stuff up again.”
We sit in silence, watching as the breeze sends a cup skittering across the lot.
“There may be some truth to their words, Avery.” She turns to face me. “I don’t think you sabotage yourself, but you do tend to make things harder than they need to be sometimes. Just not in the ways you think. Not in the ways they tell you that you do.”
“I don’t need to hear—”
“Just listen for five seconds.” She lets out a slow breath.
“Your fatal flaw is not your ADHD or your attention span or whatever you’ve decided it is.
It’s that you form yourself into what you think others want you to be.
You ignore the things that call to you so you can fit into some little box of others’ expectations. ”
“That isn’t true.”
“It is. And it’s okay. I’ve struggled with it too.
It’s hard not to in the entertainment industry.
Especially with the Kings. They expect us to keep up this perfect image, even when we’re falling apart behind the scenes.
I’m grateful to dance for them, but being told to smile through everything is a lot. ”
I stare at my toes, not sure what to say.
“Take it from me, a smile can only hide so much,” she adds, nudging my shoulder.
A smile isn’t a solution. Mary and Larissa both preaching the same to me was not something I saw coming. How could they both come to a conclusion I never saw? I push to my feet. “Can you just get me out of here? I can’t be here anymore.”
“What about your car? What about—”
“Leave it.”
She nods, and we silently pile into her vehicle.